sw1mushfandomcom-20200215-history
RPlog:Conversations Act3
The door swings open and along with a few other souls arrives a well dressed near human, his jet features scan the room and alight on a familiar figure quite quickly and then shifts to the unfamiliar one. Malign was among the populations of Caspar these days, absorbing the scenery and enjoying the weather. Rain, clouds, rain, snow, more rain, cloudy, snowy, the list of weather conditions never cease to amaze the Sith and he wonders why the world isn't underwater like Calamari. The Sandbar was as good a place as any to have a drink, but there were always ulterior motives for a Sith to venture anywhere outside their fortresses of solitude and brooding. His black essence spills into the room like a waterfall of negative energy, never being the type to hide when he was on official state business. Flanking the Sith were a pair of black garbed figures with a simple white Imperial starburst on their left shoulders, no doubt guards, their faces were covered by hoods and silk fabric. The bar was a good place to start this adventure, his hazel eyes drifting over the happenings of the establishment before he takes a seat at it and orders a drink, "Whiskey, nice and proper, leave the bottle." Simple instructions from the Empire's newest Ambassador to the CDU and CSA, the fun would be in the observing of two of his old friends having a hear to heart and to keep his distance as to not disturb Lynae in her, delicate, position. If Lynae's eyebrows could they would hit her hairline and stay there, but since even she is not that expressive she remains staring at Johanna with a look of such honest startlement that she's doing a credible imitation of a landed fish. So focused is she that she doesn't immediately notice the new arrivals in the room while she works on forming some sort of reply that is, in any way, coherent and reasoned out. The fact that it takes so long for her to do so is merely a reflection of how startled she is along with how much she prefers to think things through thoroughly before doing anything. After all, blurting out the first thing that leaps to mind is, generally speaking, not her standard MO. Rubbing one hand against the back of her neck, Lynae stares at Johanna and works her way through her answer as she speaks. "First, I want to say that your offer is generous beyond imagination. Secondly, it's also tempting beyond belief. You're right, on most if not all of those points. I can't simply transition from what I was to nothing, then from nothing to something else - something new - with no stops or intersections in between. Though being alone in space would be my idea of the perfect time to read every medical journal that I've let stack up in the last year and a half," she adds with a ghost of a smile. She rubs the back of her neck again, a sign of thoughtfulness and tension all rolled into one neat gesture. "I need to think about it, Johanna. Caspar isn't just 'a port in the storm', so to speak. Not to me." Malif alters his course with a curious quirk of his brow and approaches the table, but pauses for a moment at the thickening of the air and turns back to see what has changed the very feel of the room. Well known to him is the man that sits at the bar, this causes him tp pause for but a moment and then he continues on his planned course and arrives by the table. "Greetings." he offers Lynae is a polite and soft tone. Of course Tyler would pick RIGHT NOW as the moment to walk into the Sandbar. OF COURSE! Just when things are looking up, and Johanna is having a sensible, important conversation with Lynae. Who else should stroll in but Tyler Damion? His timing is, as always, impeccable and surely an instrument of the galaxy's sense of irony. "Don't be so quick to call it generous just yet," she begins, only to stop short and narrow her eyes as her gaze grows momentarily distant, her hand stopping in midair ere she can put the smoke to her lips again, "... and pardon me if I seem a little distracted. I'm not ignoring you, it's just that I have to divide my attention between two things at once on occasion and now is one of those times where it's prudent to do so." Here's hoping that Lynae doesn't keel over at the sight of Joh's wayward sibling. The pilot doesn't relish the thought of damage control. Whiskey, a compact and nice drink, one of the golden brown beverages of distillery. The offered glass was ignored by the Sith as he takes a firm hold onto the bottle and turns up a long swig from it turning around on his stool to watch Lynae and Johanna's table. A lot of the man that he once was now gone, and the dark and bitter soul was stripped of its identity and given a label, Malign, his slow deliberate destruction of his ego was extremely easy to identify within his stern eyes. Darkness wraps around his aura like a cloak hiding the decay of his spirit and the totally erasure of his morality. What remained inside of him were raw ambition, goals, and agenda that fit his place in the galaxy. A once idealistic crusade that he set out on might as well been burned to ash he was now a prisoner of his own desires for power. Malign drinks another hard drink from his bottle, reaching out slowly attempting to pick up imprints in the Force around Johanna, Lynae, and now Malif. He doesn't disguise his probing pressing firmly toward the surfaces of minds and objects around them trying to grab from the mood or whatever leaks from their consciousness. His two guards stand beside him on either side stoically facing forward, most certainly not human, likely machine. Doom was what he projects to his sister and sorrow. The Damion family had no place among Jedi and he quietly reminds his own blood of this revelation, she knew in her heart her role in the galaxy. It wasn't his intention to turn her, rivalry would certainly blossom from that, but the constant reminder of her family history would be a way to discourage her and weaken her attempts to rescue anyone's soul, her soul would be difficult enough to keep from the darkness that followed their family. After another drink he grows tired of the liquor and places a half full bottle on the bar with a few credit chips and slides down from the stool and starts a very deliberate and slow stroll toward the table he was so interested in. ”Malif," Lynae says aloud in greeting, tearing her attention away from Johanna to stare upwards at Malif in surprise, "when did you arrive?" she asks, a bit of a smile forming on her face as she nods her head in greeting. Her right hand sweeps out in a gesture that would begin to introduce Johanna and Malif but the gesture and the introduction freezes and dies entirely when she follows Johanna's line of sight. Freeze she does, rather like a small animal catching sight of a large bird of prey, or some fleeting analogy that runs through her mind. Her right hand drops to the surface of the table, left hand clenched into a fist below the surface of the table, finally tearing her gaze away out of a sense of self preservation. "Not again, really, not again," she says aloud, though it's more of a breath of sound as she stares very intently at the empty glass of water that sits in front of her, the other one broken not long ago. She rises from her seat, movements fluid and devoid of any haste. "Hello Tyler." The tone is as steady as her posture. Johanna knows better than to assume her brother is just coming over for a friendly chat -- the way he's already tried to intrude upon her psychic space lets her know that the way no words ever could. "I didn't realize you were on Caspar, much less in CDU space. Then again I've been out of the loop for a while." It's more for Lynae's sake than her own that she keeps so calm, knowing one unpleasant episode can spiral out of control where that device is concerned. "I see you're still drinking." He probably never stops that. Someday it'll kill him. Unlike others who can touch the Force, Tyler probably doesn't bother to detoxify the alcohol in his system. Malif freezes in mid-sentence, something akin to fury flits across his features and the table is forgotten suddenly. His upper body turns enough so that his head can pivot to take in Malign. "By the dead and gone, you dabble in cheap trickery as well." his voice is completely coated in venom. "Parlor tricks of a Maffi wannabe and you employ them?" there is just a tad bit of astonishment in the near human's voice. "I would think your understanding of the nature of the universe would put you above such...tricks." She rises from her seat, movements fluid and devoid of any haste. "Hello Tyler." The tone is as steady as her posture. Johanna knows better than to assume her brother is just coming over for a friendly chat -- the way he's already tried to intrude upon her psychic space lets her know that the way no words ever could. "I didn't realize you were on Caspar, much less in CDU space. Then again I've been out of the loop for a while." It's more for Lynae's sake than her own that she keeps so calm, knowing one unpleasant episode can spiral out of control where that device is concerned. "I see you're still drinking." He probably never stops that. Someday it'll kill him. Unlike others who can touch the Force, Tyler probably doesn't bother to detoxify the alcohol in his system. Malign's expression remains neutral as he gets what some might assume are greetings from the table he is approaching, Malif's venom would be the first to gain his complete attention as he turns to focus completely on the former criminal henchman of that fool Tyy'sun, "Oh yes, I am light-years above trickery old friend." His aura darkening with some anger as it begins to boil within him, "Maffi is dead to me, with any luck it will be wiped from the universe in a few short months, mark my words." Malign hisses as his old name is called,, so many people grasping out at a past the Sith, himself, as already put behind him. "Johanna." He replies coolly, forcing his anger down into his gut, "I frequent the slice quite often now as an Ambassador for the Galactic Empire, since our previous administrations felt a need to go against the Order I have been tasked with filling the void and seeing to day to day business of the government again." He smiles warmly toward Lynae, "Seems there are many people who could find comfort in a fool like Kreldin over our beloved Emperor, if they only knew the Danik you and I knew, yes?" Outside, there is the sound of a speeder grounding, its engines spooling down to idle. It's an unremarkable craft of decidedly utilitarian exterior and long life - a craft of economy and practicality, not luxury. One body panel has been replaced with one of somewhat mismatched colour at some point in its life cycle, but the engines sound eerily perfect. Lynae breathes deeply, unable to explain coherently why it is that Malign always 'trips her triggers' so to speak, but all in a bad - very bad - way. She doesn't bother trying to follow the flow of conversation between Malif, Johanna and Tyler and instead focuses on that empty glass. Attempting to empty her thoughts, ground her own emotions, focus on staying calm, breathing deeply. She exhales quietly, forcing a neutral expression on her face, having long prided herself for being calm, neutral, bland, blending in with the herd so to speak. But Malign just had to speak to her, and her gaze lifts from the glass to stare at him. "If I'd brought him in, on my own, or brought his head to you and Korolov, would I be here now?" she asks the question in a low voice, one that is fighting for control and even tonality while she speaks. "Would we all have been through this song, this dance, through all of it?" she continues, her left hand beginning to twitch ever so slightly and she uses her right hand to curl her left one into a fist. "Kreldin spoke what some of us had already thought. That the Empire, guided by a mere handful of individuals whose only claim to power is the ability manipulate this 'Force' through some shady training is, at best, a crazy government model. I would rather live well, and die free, than continue to turn my hand towards more slaughter even if I am -- was -- very good at it." And she is not quite visibly trembling with the effort to remain calm, but her face is pale, eyes wide as she speaks. "That's very nice, Tyler. Now why don't you run off to agitate someone else?" His sister, it seems, is having none of it, displeased with the manner in which his words upset Lynae, "Danik Kreldin is no more in the Empire and some of us are trying to begin new chapters in our lives. So pardon me for being curt, but step off before I decide I don't like these kinds of intrusions." So much for keeping her words mellow, even if her tone remains calm. "Doctor Caiton, you'll have to excuse my brother. He's not been among civilized society very long and is still learning the ropes." Ah, business as usual, it seems! No doubt Tyler will fire back with some kind of disgruntled reply about the dark side and her inevitable place in it. It's all she can do to keep back a snort at the thought of those words. Johanna's words were always sharp and to the point, she was one of the few people that could break down Malign's stoic appearance, his neutral face cracking into a perverse imitation smile as she speaks, "Always on point aren't you Johanna?" His tone remains even as he speaks. Lynae's words were not forgotten and he certainly would broach the topic of her betrayal, but first his sister, "Yes, yes, you are running from your destiny and you are innately evil and wrong doing." He says it like it was a cue or talking point or perhaps he felt that his sister anticipated, "In truth Johanna you are a kryat in bantha's clothing and your true colors only surface when I come in to test the water, if you were truly what the Jedi expected of you my presence would simply blow across your lake of serenity like a cool breeze, but I cause something to ripple inside of you, something like regret." He lets out a light chuckle as his hazel eyes turn toward Lynae. "My apologies Commodore, but yes my sister is indeed correct. I am not the most civilized member of our galaxy, I am a bit rough around the edges, but sharpened with realism." He steps forward, "Your failure, Lynae, was when you fled with prisoners to this system, you showed yourself and you were the one that foiled Danik's plans, you and you alone saved our Emperor and maintained our government. You are little more than a martyr of the impact of fear. Giving into you fear, a poor commander indeed, and to think I came personally to rescue you from the New Republic and this is the thanks I get." He spits on the floor and rises to his full height, "You sicken me, we all make our sacrifices to serve, and you are a coward." "Coward?" Lynae replies, finding calm finally in anger, her usual method of approach. "No, not this time. You call me a coward, but when I said that I would rather live well and die free, I meant it. How afraid is the Empire of free will? How afraid is the Empire of people - sentient beings - making their own decisions. Good or ill, making them, then living with the consequences. Or not, as the case may, and sometimes is, be?" She pushes to her feet, still pale but determined, "I am not a coward. I never, ever, once backed down from or refused an order. Never, ever, did I order any one of my people to do something that I would not. Ever. I've served in field hospitals where the mud and the blood covered us from ankle to knee and the sounds of the dead and the dying were worse than the battle itself. And never shirked my duty, never refused to keep moving, keep helping, keep daring to put my hands on people and attempt to heal them. Coward? No. If you want to look for a coward, look into yourself, Malign. What are You so afraid of that you think the Empire's way, crushing all opposition - all dissent - in it's wake for fear that there might be another, a better way?" She sweeps her right hand in a gesture to indicate the room, and the world beyond, "They do it. Every day. Make their own decisions. Believe what they want, live how they want, pick their own leaders even. The Empire could learn a lot from the Caspians, I know that I did," she says simply. A fine sheen of perspiration stands out on Lynae's forehead by the time she's done, her pulse climbing steadily through her own rebuttal and the monitor on her wrist is a few points from sounding off by the time she's done speaking. But speak her mind she did, for better or for ill. Malif considers the rising matters here and chooses to fall back out of the fray . shifting to the bar and a hard drink. There was a message, and a debate was held after it was received, on whether or not Brandis should actually follow through with the request. There is a great deal of trepidation on his part on even coming here. It isn't that he's a coward, he just doesn't want to get Lynae's hopes up if the ultimate decision is to refuse to aid her. His reason for making that choice in person is that he wants to see what she has become, to determine if there's anything worth saving before he ever tries. Of course, he wasn't really prepared for everyone present to actually be...present when he steps into the Sandbar. The last time he was here, Snarl got into a brawl. He hopes they've forgotten him. If Lynae wants to handle this, very well. Johanna won't stand in her way. The pilot decides to back off and let the doctor do as she sees fit, though she remains mindful of what Lynae's system is being subjected to and how it's being affected by the confrontation. She spares Tyler a look of disdain. "Don't flatter yourself, Mister Damion." Then, through the Force, something decidedly more... colorful, as only a sibling can manage. She's made her pitch to Lynae and now has to watch and gauge if the ex-Imperial is serious about mending her ways and starting anew. If she's going to plead her case to the other Jedi... there had better be solid grounds for this endorsement. Malign wasn't blind and he certainly was a fool, if he were in Lynae's shoes and allowed to hide behind a Jedi and point fingers at someone that embodied her frustrations he would probably do the same. His expression grows cold again as he prepares a polite but pointed response, unnaturally calm, "You did follow a great deal of orders Commodore, but in the end your breaking a standing order and abandoning your post when the weight and pressure became to great. Partly principles partly fear of what myself or Mr. Fleming would have done if we discovered your plot." The Sith shrugs. He steps forward but doesn't project any threatening aura or 'charge up' of negative energy that would signal a flagrant use of the Force and whispers to Lynae, "To be honest I never cared about governments just my values, I do as I please and I get enjoyment from my work." He shrugs, "I like to kill people Commodore, I like to make beings suffer if they disobey the Emperor, but at least people can see their limitations in the Empire, the slavery and evil here and on worlds like this rest behind a veil of lies and illusions. Democracy is smoke and mirrors, a small group of elite projecting an image but doing everything they can to stay in power and to be a have over a have not, rigging elections isn't a difficult task." The Sith laughs, "Besides the Republic might be a democracy but some of its member worlds are just as totalitarian as the Empire and appoint their representatives." He shrugs, "The galaxy you wish for will never exist, go back to what you are good at, torturing living creatures..like.." his hazel eyes turn to the entrance as Brandis enters, "Like the Jedi who entered the bar." He gives Johanna another smile, "I only flatter myself when I know I am speaking the truth, today I flatter myself." He shrugs, "But even though we are sworn enemies, you're still family so I'll lend you a helping hand if you ever need it, you know where to contact me." He winks gesturing to the bartender to bring him his half-finished bottle of whiskey. With Brandis stepping into the fray things would only grow more interesting, maybe this was a test orchestrated from Coruscant, Vadim manipulating the universe to test his agent's ability to be patient and to bring the world down around them through speech and not action, Malign welcomes challenges. "I didn't fear what you, or Fleming, would do, Malign. I knew without a doubt, with absolute certainty, what would happen next. But you're wrong on a few of those key points," Lynae says as she refuses to retreat despite the fact that Malign is entirely too close for comfort. "I didn't fear for myself. If I feared for myself I'd have kept on going and not returned, ever, to this side of the galaxy. Which, from my calculations, is entirely large enough to have found a new place to live. No, I knew that if I didn't remove Dareus and Quinn from holding that the next thing that they would 'Enjoy' was a taste of Imperial Hospitality. I know the penalty for treason, be it thought word or deed. No one ever asked me, so I'm going to offer it up. I removed them from holding on the working logic that clearer heads might prevail. So that someone would wise up and remember that a dignitary, a diplomat of a government that the Empire holds a treaty with is not to have her rights trampled so neatly or cast aside. You like killing people, that's your kick, not mine. If I wanted to be a killer it would be easy, Malign. I'm a physician, I know how to heal a body and I know how to break it apart into tiny pieces that can be tucked into a nice compact sized box. But that's not my idea of purpose in this life. You want to roll yourself in gore and blood and use the Empire as a way to continue to enjoy doing what you clearly love doing, for your own ends, by all means enjoy yourself." She smiles then, or something that resembles a smile but is a mere baring of teeth, her hands white knuckled at her sides, fingers curled tightly as she shifts her gaze over Tyler's shoulder and towards the door and the new arrival into the Sandbar. Were it possible for her to go more pale she would, but it simply isn't possible, her mouth opening to continue saying something .. well, something that would be considered 'mouthy' more or less, but what's left of her self control is blasted away by the soft beep of the device inset in her left wrist and she has no choice but to seat herself again, jaw clenched as she tries to avoid another smacking of self into floor, which simply isn't fun. "Well spoken." the young doctor says softly as Lynae's speech apprises him quite neatly of the situation. "Still annoying people I see, Tyler. You really need to get out more...find new hobbies." Brandis studies the rugged man with clear blue eyes, the fact that he can see at all should be something of a surprise for Tyler. He inclines his head into a respectful half-bow toward Johanna, who's presence has been duly noted before focusing his gaze on Lynae. She's the reason he is here at all. Her next actions will determine whether or not she gets his help. "With all due...respect, I greet you, Dr. Caiton. Let's find out if my journey here was an unequivocated waste of time, shall we?" his eyes flick back to Johanna once more, as though questioning her motives in the company she keeps, but with a hint of humor to it all. If he doesn't trust /her/ it doesn't show at this juncture. Outside, there are the sounds of sentients disembarking from the speeder - doors opening, and booted feet hitting pavement. Apparently they pause to mingle and confer near the door. It's a short conversation, before the front door is drawn open and two figures clad in matte grey body armor stride through the door. Caspian-made carbines (model C27) are slung across their chests, humorless stoicism etched upon their faces, and the emblem of the Presidential Guards emblazoned upon their shoulders. They have distinct genetic differences, but their mannerisms show of intensive training to work as a team, with carbon- copy postures and synchronized movements. Each has his right hand on the carbine's grip, but keep their fingers clear of the trigger. One looks left, the other right, as they take up posts beside the door in identical, decidedly combat-ready postures. Scarcely a half a breath passes before their charge strides into their midst. Identical frowns upon the guardsman's faces show their intensive dislike for their charge's tendencies to wade out into odd situations. Perhaps he gets away with it because he does not look political. Surely, were it not for the Guardsmen, he could probably stride into here without initially being noticed. He looks more like the sort who should be working with the Constabulary, kicking in the doors on gangsters... and once, before the unfortunate business with President Tracer, he was a Marine. His eyes turn immediately towards Lyn's table, his expression suggesting that he already knew exactly what to expect in here. Looking between Lynae and those who the doctor has drawn, he pulls a breath, and lets it out slow in a sigh. Then he pauses to light the cigar that's clenched in the corner of the mouth, first employing a cutter to amputate the tip. Interesting that Tyler should suspect this a test from Vadim. Johanna suspects it to be a test from another source entirely, especially with the arrival of Brandis, the very person she's been planning to apply to for help on behalf of an erstwhile agent of evil. The Force must have a hand in this meeting, surely. "We are not sworn anythings, as far as I know," she replies to her brother, "But indeed, we are still family. I must say, however, that the only helping hand I've known you to lend is the one that would make my life *more* difficult, not less. I'm not the one you're interested in aiding. The only one you care for is yourself -- and maybe that twisted creature you've adopted as a Master, even as he spins his lies for you." Then she retreats once more to let Lynae have her say, the concern evident on her features as the Doctor overexerts herself. In a flash she is at her side, a hand hovering near that wrist. Physical touch will no doubt be unwelcome... it's a good thing Johanna has the Force to do some work for her. "If you insist on getting yourself riled, I'll be tempted to jolt you with a remedy of my own," the pilot mutters, none too keen on the idea of having her buddy die on her, "Tyler's full of hot air and he's pushing all your buttons in just the right places." And as if to underscore her point, the escorts who followed Brandis here look none too pleased by the developments. "Can we avoid a bloodbath in here? I'm quite sick of those, mostly because I'll have to do all the killing and I'm kind of tired and hoping I could have a mostly nice day today in spite of the rain." It wasn't him, this time that apparently pushed Lynae over the edge and into her seat, it was Brandis. The good natured doctor coming to her aid and Johanna's his sister now asking to avoid bloodshed, but apparently lacked the power to tell her friends to hold their tongue around those who are not concerned with self-restraint. Having his way, Malign would bring the establishment down to the ground and turn it to ashes. Instead he quietly pulls a cigarette from his pack and lights it and takes a few drags from it turning to Brandis and projecting his aura around him, a comfortable reminder of who had once taken his sight away from him, "Watch your Tongue Brandis, I afford you no curtsey to speak to me." The Sith frowns. With the appearance of the CDU's presidential guard things would only get more interesting, "Careful Johanna." He advises quietly with a mischievous grin reminiscent of the old Tyler but tinged with the darkness of Darth Malign, "Your friends are pushing all the wrong buttons and seem to be begging for violence, again the only thing that keeps the tides of pain from enveloping your friends is my restraint and respect for the CDU's laws and sovereignty." Naturally all of this was lies but it sounded good. His hazel eyes stare intently at the traitor, "Lynae you try to justify your actions anyway you feel will give you peace, but mark my words, your treachery is remembered and as long as I brief air and roam this galaxy, I will find you and torment your existence. Not because it is my job, but because it is something fun to do. Pray to whatever you believe in, because nothing can save you from the Sith and the anger of the Emperor." He smirks and presses his way back toward the bar his aura almost dissipating all together as he wraps it tightly around himself and begins to mask his presence in the Force. His guards emerge from shadows and flank him leading him to the exit, to return to 'official' duties. Mahon stays back initially, drawing on that cigar until the tip finally glows brilliantly orange, turning the cigar so that it doesn't end up burning lopsided. And once lit he pulls the fragrant smoke into his mouth and exhales it in a liesurely fashion. His expression is a tired one, his eyes ancient as they watch the exchange between light and dark... the familiar dance. He listens intently to every word of Tyler's threat to Lynae. And as Tyler is on his way out, Mahon interposes himself... long enough to speak three words, "Persona... non... grata." ---- *Conversations_Act4